


Put on your yarmulke, it's time for Hanukkah~

by hotfruits



Category: GOT7
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Jewish Holidays, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-21
Updated: 2015-12-21
Packaged: 2018-05-08 03:38:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5481998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hotfruits/pseuds/hotfruits
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When marchtwentyfour asked me for a holiday Jackbam fic, I was like, "Screw Christmas, let's do Hanukkah!"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Put on your yarmulke, it's time for Hanukkah~

**Author's Note:**

  * For [marchtwentyfour](https://archiveofourown.org/users/marchtwentyfour/gifts).



> Happy (belated) Hanukkah, ya’ll! ♥  
> (and thank you [babyjae](http://archiveofourown.org/users/babyjae/profile) for betaing!)
> 
> The inspiration for Jackson’s backstory came from my own cousin, who was adopted from Vietnam and into our Jewish family. You’ll never see this, Debbie, but I love you girl!

“It’s nice to meet you, Jackson!” is what Bambam wishes he had said, when he first meets the pretty blonde from his psych 101 class. What actually comes out of his mouth, though, is, “Wait, Berkowitz? Isn’t that a Jewish name?”

Jackson raises a brow, “Yeah, occasionally Jewish people have Jewish names.”

Bambam totally bypasses the sarcasm and goes straight for, “But…you’re Asian?”

Jackson gasps, his hands flying to his cheeks as he gives Bambam a wide-eyed stare; it reminds him of the kid from Home Alone, and he has to remind himself not to giggle. “Oh my god, “I’m Asian?” Jackson exclaims, drawing curious glances from the other students loitering in the hall, “Well, shit, obviously I can’t be Jewish and Asian, that would just be,” he pauses, deadpanning, “Silly.”

After several moments, Bambam figures the gods aren’t going to answer his prayers and strike him down, so he straightens his back, takes a deep breath, and says, “I’m an asshole, and I’m sorry.”

Jackson suddenly laughs, a high-pitched sound that has a few students wrinkling their noses. “Ah man, it’s…well, it’s not cool, but I forgive you. And hey!” he moves forward, clapping Bambam on the back. The force of the hit has Bambam whining low in his throat, “If you ever wanna know more about Jews and Jewish culture, hit me up. Later!”

Bambam watches Jackson as he walks away, unashamedly admiring the view (“You’re a pervert,” his roommate, Yugyeom, says to him, after he finishes retelling the story; Bambam shrugs, unable to deny the truth). Regardless, Jackson’s words echo in his brain for several weeks, until amidst all of the Christmas cheer, he overhears two of his classmates talking about their plans for Hanukkah. He then approaches Jackson, overly-confident in his tight jeans and pink boots, and ends up agreeing to spend the holiday with the pretty blonde.

Several days later, Bambam gets a text from Jackson to stop by his dorm room, ASAP. He rushes through his shower, carefully applies his makeup, and throws on the only clean clothes he has left. When he finally arrives at Jackson’s dorm, nearly out of breath, a different pretty blonde answers the door. “Your friend is here,” the guy calls over his shoulder, his voice a monotonous drawl.

“Bambam!” Jackson pushes the guy aside and pulls him into a hug, before drawing him into the room. “We always decorate the night before Hanukkah,” he explains, gesturing to the twinkling blue and white fairy lights, the neon-colored tops scattered on their small table, and…

“Did you get that menorah at Target?” Bambam asks, referring to the tiny blue and white candelabra on Jackson’s desk.

“Yeah man!” Jackson laughs, slapping his chest affectionately; Bambam tries not to wince. “I’m a Jew on a budget, and Target is the shit! Also, you’ve been researching,” he comments, giving Bambam a wink that has him blushing.

“So,” he clears his throat, changing the topic, “Are you Jewish too…?”

“Mark,” the other guy supplies, flashing a peace sign, “And nah, but it’s fun to celebrate.”

“Bullshit, you heathen!” Jackson giggles, jumping towards Mark and ninja-chopping him in the side, “You just like the eight days of presents!”

While Mark and Jackson continue to banter and slap each other, Bambam discreetly slips his cell phone out of his pocket and checks his bank account. His expression turns haunted as he swears, eyes closing in defeat.

 

 

_The First Night_

 

 

Bambam arrives at Jackson’s dorm room a few minutes before sundown, and is surprised to see only Jackson there, and not his quiet roommate, too. “Where’s Mark?” he asks, setting the first of Jackson’s gifts down on the floor.

Jackson glances down at the blue and white wrapping paper, smiling. “He went Christmas shopping with his sister and her kids, so it’s just us tonight,” he responds, before grabbing two neon-colored candles and a lighter. “You ready?” he asks, as Bambam steps closer to him, their shoulders brushing.

“Let’s do it!” Bambam grins, wiggling with excitement; just last week, he didn’t know anything about Hanukkah (or Jewish culture, for that matter). Now, though, he’s getting ready to celebrate his first Hanukkah, watching carefully as Jackson places one of the candles in the menorah. He then hands Bambam the lighter, who isn’t sure he deserves this honor, but lights the remaining candle in Jackson’s hand nonetheless. He waits, silently, for Jackson to place this candle in the menorah as well.

Bambam gasps when Jackson begins to sing, a quiet baritone that fills the room. He’s so fixated on the prayers slipping from the others’ lips, that he misses the moment when Jackson lights the candle in the menorah, before placing the one in his hand in the center; ‘The shamash,’ Bambam recalls, eyes darting back to Jackson.

The darkness of the room, combined with the fairy lights and the flickering of the candles, soften the hard lines and angles of Jackson’s face. He’s beautiful, and Bambam can feel his heart quicken.

_“Baruch Atah Adonai Eloheinu Melech, Ha’olam, shehekheyanu, v’kiyamanu vehegianu lazman hazeh.”_

Jackson lingers on the last note, before finishing with a sigh. “We only do that version of the prayer on the first night,” he says to Bambam, bumping his shoulder, “The other nights, it’s a lot shorter.”

“It was amazing,” Bambam replies, unable to meet Jackson’s gaze, but can see him beaming out of the corner of his eye. Jackson probably thinks he thought the prayers, or the process, or whatever, was amazing; and it was, truly, but Bambam is caught replaying the sound of Jackson’s voice in his head, a soothing rumble that made his nerves dance, just like the flickering flames.

 

 

_The Second Night_

 

Bambam’s heart is still fluttering in his chest, an ache that leaves him feeling nauseas in his stomach and throat. Thankfully, Mark is there to celebrate with them this evening, making it so that Bambam isn’t alone with Jackson; which is good, because if he had been, he probably would have done something stupid, like record Jackson singing (so he can listen to it forever and ever, like a creep).

“Hey, pay attention!” Jackson slaps him on the knee, drawing him back down to earth, “So, each side has a different meaning in the game,” he illustrates by holding up one of the neon-colored dreidels, different markings etched unto its sides. “When nun is facing up, you do nothing,” he begins pointing out each symbol, explaining its purpose. “When gimel is facing up, you get everything in the pot. When hay is facing up, you get half of the pot. And when shin is facing up, you add to the pot,” he finishes, placing the dreidel into Bambam’s hand. “You ready?”

Bambam nods and places the dreidel on the table, giving it a spin. While it rotates, Mark and Jackson begin to chant, clapping their hands, “Dreidel dreidel dreidel, I made it out of clay. And when it’s dry and ready, dreidel I shall play!”

“Oh, shin!” Jackson screeches as the top stops, showing its side. “Shin shin, put one in!” he cackles, wiggling in his spot on the carpet.

Bambam tosses a piece of his gelt onto the table, unable to stop smiling at Jackson, while Mark rolls his eyes at his friend’s exuberance. He’s like a giant puppy, all wiggles and happy smiles, as they continue to play the game, the pile of gelt growing larger and larger.

“Oh my god, gimel!” Jackson shouts as the top stops, leaning forward to scoop the pile into his arms. “You don’t even understand,” he says, mostly to Mark, who is eyeing him quietly, “Whenever I play with my family, I never get gimel. Usually Aaron does, and he’s such a loud dick about it.”

“Ah, now I see the family resemblance,” Mark jokes, prompting Jackson to chuck a piece of gelt at his face. Mark unwraps it and pops the chocolate coin into his mouth, smiling.

“Rude bitch,” Jackson grumbles, before turning to Bambam. “Speaking of, where is your family from Bambam?”

“Thailand,” he replies, moving to spin the dreidel; as it twirls, he adds, “I was born in Bangkok.”

“And this is your first year at UCLA, right?”

“Yeah,” he says, leaning back on his elbows when the top lands on nun. Mark grabs the dreidel next, giving it a hard spin.

“Do you like it?”

Bambam slowly inhales as he looks up at Jackson, who is watching him with a thoughtful expression; it’s interesting, he thinks, because if Jackson had asked him that question back in September, then he would have said _‘no, I hate it. I’m lonely and miserable and I miss my family_ ‘. Now, though, he finally understands the layout of the giant school, Yugyeom has become one of his best friends, and Jackson…

Bambam exhales, smiling, “Yeah, I love it.”

 

 

_The Third Night_

 

 “You know, you didn’t have to get me all of these gifts,” Jackson mumbles, clutching his Hanukkah-themed socks to his chest. “I mean, I totally appreciate it!” he adds, his puppy eyes making Bambam’s heart leap. “But you didn’t have to do it.”

“I know,” Bambam shrugs, resisting the urge to lunge across the bed and hug Jackson, “I just figured…it must suck, not being able to spend the holidays with your family. I know I’m disappointed,” he scratches at his wrist, looking away.

“Why aren’t you going back home?” Jackson questions, shuffling across the bed. He stops when they’re sitting side-by-side, his arm wrapping around his shoulders and pulling him near. Bambam sighs and relaxes, letting Jackson support his weight.

“It’s too expensive,” he replies, taking deep breaths as Jackson begins to rub his arm, squeezing the tired muscles periodically. “It’s okay, though,” he continues, his voice thick as he thinks about his mom, “A lot of the other foreign students can’t fly home, so we’re all going to hang out during break. If you’re around, you could…hang with us. If you like.”

Jackson smiles, “Yeah man, that’d be great. Which kids do you hang out with?”

“Jimin, Yerin, Tzuyu, Chaeyoung,” as Bambam begins to list them, he realizes that he and Yugyeom have a lot of female friends, “Oh, Jinyoung, Jaebum, and Youngjae, too.”

“Oh god, you know Jinyoung and Jaebum?” Jackson groans, his nose wrinkling as his head falls onto Bambam’s shoulder. “I can see why you like Youngjae, the boy is literally made of candy. Literally,” Jackson deadpans, making Bambam giggle. “But Jinyoung and Jaebum? I love them, but they’re such dicks!”

He shakes his head, “You haven’t met Yugyeom. He’s practically their demon love child.”

Jackson peeks up at him, mouth falling open in horror.

“It’s the evil that makes them fun, though,” he adds, lowering his head onto Jackson’s. The blonde’s fuzzy hair tickles his cheek, but he doesn’t move, “Plus, Jinyoung isn’t too bad. He’s just very emo.”

Jackson snorts.

 

 

_The Fourth Night_

 

Bambam wrinkles his nose as Jackson sets a plate in front of him, eyeing the oily potatoes and applesauce warily. “And this is traditional Hanukkah food?” he asks, gesturing towards the plate with distaste.

“Latkas and applesauce! Just the way mom makes it,” Jackson chirps, causing specks of food to fly from his full mouth. “We’re lucky the kitchen staff are so easily bribed. Now, eat!” he commands, pretending to stab Bambam with his fork.

Bambam sighs, cutting off a piece of his potato looking pancake. He then tops it with applesauce, just like Jackson, before quickly swallowing it down. His eyes widen as he swallows, staring at Jackson in awe. “Oh my god!”

“I know, right?”

“Oh my god!”

“Dude, totally!”

“This is amazing!” Bambam gushes, shoveling more food into his mouth. “Is all Jewish food like this?” he asks, voice muffled by the pile of potatoes in his mouth.

“Kind of,” Jackson says, his fork idling in his hand, “Hanukkah is the best, though, because everything is oily and fried. When I was a kid,” he begins to share, smiling, “My mom and I would always cook together on the first day of Hanukkah. We’d be in the kitchen all morning, making latkas, sufganiot,” Bambam raises a brow, prompting Jackson to clarify, “Deep-fried jelly donuts. It was so much fun.”

Bambam finishes gulping his food down, “That sounds amazing!” he says, before adding, “You and your mom must be really close, then.”

“Yeah, she’s the best. We did have this rough patch,” Jackson looks down at his plate, a sadness in his eyes, “But once I remembered how much she loved me, we were closer than ever.”

“I’m close with my mom, too.”

“What about your dad?” Jackson asks, scooping more latkas onto their plates.

Bambam can’t help but stiffen in his seat, frowning as he glances away from Jackson’s curious stare.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean–”

“He died,” Bambam replies, too harsh. He pauses, slowly inhaling and exhaling, “He died when I was little.”

Jackson doesn’t offer him any heartfelt condolences, or annoying platitudes, as most people do. Instead, he grabs the jar of applesauce and moves to side besides him, close enough for him to feel Jackson’s body heat. “Applesauce?” he asks, spooning out a large helping.

Bambam nods, grateful.

 

 

_The Fifth and Sixth Night_

 

Jackson ends up spending the next two days with Mark and his family, so Bambam mopes around the dorm room, despite Yugyeom’s attempts to cheer him up. He’s not even sure why he’s so bummed, until Yugyeom says, “It’s because you like the guy, duh.”

“Of course I like him, he’s my–”

“Don’t even say it, oh my god,” Yugyeom rolls his eyes, throwing a gummy bear at his face. “He’s not just your friend. Look at the facts, dude!” Yugyeom holds up five fingers, and begins counting down. “Number one, you never stop talking about him. Number two, you never stop smiling while you talk about him. Number three, you bought him eight presents. Number four, I totally heard you moaning his name in the shower the other day,” Bambam splutters, blushing, “And number five, after only two days apart, you’re sad without him.”

“He’s just my…” Bambam sighs, the word ‘friend’ trapped on his tongue. God, who is even kidding? Jackson isn’t just his friend, never has been; he’s been falling for that pretty blonde since day one, and now he’s hit rock bottom. “Fuck,” he swears, falling back onto his bed with a groan. “This sucks.”

“Why?” Yugyeom questions, jumping up from his bed and onto Bambam’s, “From what you said, it sounds like Jackson likes you back.”

“No way,” Bambam dismisses him, turning onto his side. “Jackson is funny, smart, and so gorgeous–”

“Sounds like a guy my equally funny, smart, and gorgeous best friend deserves,” Yugyeom interrupts him, punching his back softly. “I know you, Kunpimook. You can pretend around other people, but not me, okay?”

Bambam blinks back the wetness in his eyes, “Yeah, okay,” he replies, hugging his blanket closer.

 

 

_The Seventh Night_

 

 

Bambam unwraps another piece of gelt and pops it into his mouth; at this point, he’s not sure if he’s overeating because it’s the holidays, or because he’s trying to avoid talking to Jackson. Regardless, he’s never felt so unsure of himself before, and it’s really throwing him off balance.

“I want to show you something,” Jackson suddenly announces and pulls out his cell phone, his brows pulled together as he searches through it. After several moments, he hands it to Bambam, who takes it without question.

“Huh,” he mumbles as he studies the pictures, unsurprised that his assumptions were correct. “They look nice,” he comments, hoping Jackson can see that he truly means it; because they do look nice, his family, all wrapped up in each others’ arms with bright smiles and festive sweaters.

Jackson scooches closer to him and leans over his shoulder, grinning, “That’s my mom, Judy,” he begins, referring to the curly-haired brunette, “My dad, Leslie,” a tall, slender man with a bushy mustache, “And my older brother, Aaron,” he finishes, the young man a carbon copy of his parents.

“When were you adopted?” Bambam asks, his finger hovering over the phone. He looks up at Jackson, a silent request to move forward in the album. Jackson nods his consent, and so Bambam begins swiping through the album, while Jackson shares his story.

“My mom’s pregnancy with Aaron was really tough, like almost dying tough. The doctors advised her not to have any more children biologically, so when they were ready, they began looking into adoption,” he pauses, Bambam giggling at the teenaged Jackson, “And they found me.”

“You were a cute goth,” he says, glancing at Jackson with a slight smirk. He slides onto the next photo, and the next, his humor fading as an angrier and angrier looking Jackson stared back at him, a permanent scowl on his face.

“I was fourteen when my parents told me I was adopted,” Bambam raises a brow, making Jackson chuckle. “Yeah, you would think as the only Asian member in a white, Jewish family, I would’ve realized it sooner. It honestly never occurred to me, though…they loved me as their own,” he smiles sadly, regret in his eyes. “I don’t know why I felt so betrayed, but I did, hence the angry goth phase that lasted until I was sixteen.”

“And what happened after sixteen?”

 

Jackson gestures towards the phone, so Bambam continues to swipe through the pictures. When Jackson signals him, he stops, landing on a photo of Jackson still dressed in black, but smiling, wrapped in his mother’s arms. “She told me I was a Berkowitz, just like them, and anyone who said differently could fuck off.”

Bambam bursts into laughter, nearly dropping Jackson’s phone. “She actually said that?” he questions, and when Jackson nods, he adds, “Your mother sounds awesome!”

“She is,” Jackson brags, clearly proud of his mother. “Next time she visits, you’ll have to meet her.”

“Really? I mean...we haven’t known each other that long, or anything…” he blushes, attempting to put a little distance between him and Jackson. Jackson stops him, though, his arm wrapping around Bambam’s waist and pulling him closer.

“She enjoys meeting people I like,” he replies, grinning from ear to ear. “And she’d adore you, trust me.”

Bambam gulps, but smiles nonetheless, allowing himself to relax in Jackson’s embrace.

 

 

_The Eighth Night_

 

Bambam places the Shamash in the center of the menorah, before taking a step back and admiring all eight of the neon-colored candles, illuminating the tacky, Target-made menorah. 

“It’s really beautiful,” he whispers, his hand reaching for Jackson’s. He smiles when Jackson meets him halfway, their fingers twining together.

“Thanks for celebrating Hanukkah with me, Bambam,” Jackson uses his grip to pull him closer, so they’re standing side by side. He then drops Bambam’s hand and places his arm around his shoulders, hugging him.

“Thanks for giving me the chance. I still feel bad for being an ass to you,” he admits, but Jackson shrugs it off, not needing his apologies. He smiles and rests his head on Jackson’s shoulder, breathing in the smell of his cologne.

“So, what holiday are we celebrating next?”

“Well, there’s Tu BiSh’vat, the new year of trees,” Jackson purses his lips, considering, “And there’s Purim, but we’d have to go to the synagogue for that. Although,” his hand reaches towards Bambam’s hair, giving a burgundy strand a twirl, “You’d look so cute in a yarmulke.”

Bambam sighs, leaning into the touch.

“The next big holiday would be Passover, but we’d have to fly home for that,” he says, and Bambam thinks about flying to Seattle with Jackson, meeting his parents and older brother at the airport. It definitely makes him nervous, but in a giddy, pleased kind of way.

“I can’t wait.” 


End file.
